Warnings for blood/vomit.
Aiolia swallowed back a cry of pain as his hand slipped on the handle of the knife. The tip of the blade, buried as it was in the fatty skin of his upper arm, dug in deeper. Bright ruby drops welled up along its edges, glistening in the dim light filtering down from the rafters. Aiolia flexed his fingers open, before wrapping them around the knife again. His palm, slick with sweat, threatened to slip down the roughhewn wooden handle. With fierce determination the boy tightened his grip on the knife, refusing to let his fingers budge. Now with a better handle on the knife, he slowly began to trace out a small circle in his own flesh.
His hand shook as the knife began slicing though his skin, a red river trailing in its wake. It hurt, god it hurt, but he had to ignore the pain. He couldn't let it affect him. He had to finish it. Eyes were watching him. Eyes were watching for him to fail. Eyes that had seen Aiolos's failure and were just waiting for his own.
Aiolia could still recall the feverish light in his brother's eyes. It had scared him so much that he barely caught Aiolos's words. Why were his brother's eyes so bright? Why did they keep darting to the sides, as if expecting the very shadows to jump out at him? Why was his grip on Aiolia's shoulder so tight it almost made him cry out in pain?
"They're going to say things, Aiolia, things you won't want to hear." The words raced out of his brother's mouth in a harsh whisper, demanding Aiolia's attention, but still it was his eyes that the young boy focused on. Aiolos's too intense eyes bored into him, snatching a glance to the right, then rapt again on his face. "Agree with them." His brother's voice rose forcefully. He seemed to catch himself, turning to look behind him briefly, before continuing again in that strained whisper. "Agree with every word, no matter what they say about me. Agree with them and remain loyal. It's the only thing that will keep you safe."
"Remain loyal," his brother's voice almost begged him. That light in Aiolos's eyes. Aiolia finally recognized it as fear.
Remain loyal.
Those were the last words Aiolos ever spoke to him.
The knife ran up against Aiolia's initial cut, completing the crimson circle. Blood seeping out of the cut ran out in rivulets that fell to cover his forearm. More blood splattered his worn jeans and the rough concrete floor he knelt on.
Every member of the Gold Sinners had their Zodiac sign carved into their body, to mark them with the scar for the rest of their lives. It was said to be a sign of loyalty and dedication. One you only received upon full acceptance into the gang. If you thought too hard on it you knew what it really was. A mark of ownership.
With the tight loop completed, Aiolia swept the knife in an upward swoop, trying to ignore the pain. A scrawling imitation of a river on a map now tracked down his arm in red. This too Aiolia tried to ignore. All the while Aiolos's words rang in his head.
Remain loyal.
Bastard. Traitor. Murderer.
The words followed him everywhere. The bastard who had his throat slit for a crime against the Sinners they said. The traitor who had murdered Shion they said. Aiolos had gotten what he deserved they said. Aiolia better agree with them they said. Otherwise he would be next they said.
He had grown up here, among the gang members. Men who had taught him how to throw a punch, or how to take one now eyed him mistrustfully. Everywhere he went, everything he did, was watched to see if he would slip up. To see if maybe he had known more than he had let on about Aiolos's plans, whatever they had been. To see if he would try and carry them out to fruition. The eyes watched to see if he would have to meet the same grisly end that Aiolos had.
Aiolos's last words were never far from his thoughts. Funny how Aiolos had seemed to think it would be difficult for Aiolia to remain loyal to the gang. How could he have been anything but? Unlike Aiolos, Aiolia couldn't remember a time before the Sinners. They were all he had, the closest thing to family he'd ever know with Aiolos now dead and gone. Now that Aiolos's actions had left him alone.
So he nodded along with every slight spat. Slandered Aiolos's name along with the best of them. Aiolos had been a traitor he said. Aiolos had murdered Shion in cold blood he said. Aiolos had deserved what he got he said.
But he wasn't Aiolos he said.
Aiolia's hand slipped on the sweat slicked handle of the knife. A small hiss of pain escaped between his teeth before he could stop it. The blade of the knife jolted in his skin, digging in even deeper than before. A jagged line now marred the smooth sweep he had been cutting.
Not much was left now, but his determination faltered. His arm seared in pain. His jaws were clamped so hard together to prevent any more sounds of pain from escaping that they ached. He gripped the knife so tightly that an imprint was being left in his palm.
Despite the pain, it was the imperfection in the scar that had captured his attention. An imperfection to stay with him forever. Aiolia wasn't sure if wanted to laugh or cry.
Remain loyal.
The knife began to move once again. He would finish this. He would prove to the eyes that he had meant every word he said. He would prove his loyalty.
He had tried to do everything right. When defaming Aiolos along with everyone else was not enough he followed them up with actions to show his dedication to the Sinners. Showed how brutal he could be. Never backed at a job, no matter how dirty. He laid out his body and soul to be accepted. Took the words. Took the beatings.
Finally, at the age of fifteen, yet hardened beyond his years, Aiolia had taken up a simple wooden handled knife. He eyed his reflection in the glittering blade for a brief monet, his eyes caught by the sharpness of its edge. Underneath those unbearable eyes he drove the tip of the blade into his arm.
Remain loyal.
Aiolia laid the blade aside, regarding the scarlet Leo sign now engraved in his arm with a sense of morbid fascination. It was a crude, childlike rendering of the Zodiac sign that he was born under, but because of it the eyes would stop their staring.
Saga was the first to approach. He took the knife up, nodded at Aiolia, acknowledging his efforts.
There it was. Acceptance.
Others followed. Aldebaran clasped his right hand firmly without jostling it in the slightest; an action between equals. Milo, his face stretched thin as always, clapped him on the shoulder. Mu passed him a smoke. Told him it had helped him calm his own jitters after he had gave himself his own scar years before. Shura hung back, his eyes guarded as always when they fell on Aiolia. At least they no longer sent the shiver up Aiolia's back that they once did.
It wasn't until Dohko had wrapped a thick linen bandage around his upper arm, commending him for being such a good boy, that they all left. It wasn't until he stood alone that he finally noticed the now dried tear tracks running down his face. Only now did he acknowledge the roiling upset in his stomach, which was suddenly spewing forward from his mouth.
He bent over on all fours, his right arm throbbing against the weight he was putting on it, and the remnants of his last meal splattered on the floor in front of him. His chest heaved as another mouthful of bile spewed forth, an acidic burn left behind in his throat. He crouched there, eyes streaming, stomach heaving, arm screaming in pain. A burning emotion coursed through his veins, pumping along with the blood which was leaking under the bandage on his arm.
He'd done it. He'd been the good little boy Aiolos had wanted him to be. Despite the suspicion, he'd pushed forward. Under all the pressure, he'd persevered. He'd survived all the abuse and finally proven his loyalty.
At that moment the only emotion Aiolia was feeling was a burning hate for the murderous bastard who had left him to this wretched existence.